


A Sum of Equal Parts

by CharmingNotDarling



Category: Blindspot (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2015-11-10
Packaged: 2018-05-01 01:12:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5186567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharmingNotDarling/pseuds/CharmingNotDarling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"That's just it, if it came down to the girl you lost and the woman you found, who would you choose?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Sum of Equal Parts

**Author's Note:**

> A little something that I just couldn't walk away from... I hope you enjoy.

He sleeps in fits and starts. Just like last night, like every night for the last two weeks. Dreams, nightmares and his own damn conscious have been the culprit every time. He's lived the majority of his life waiting and hoping and harping on himself. As a child he would make wild, irrational promises to the universe, just to see her face, to hear her laugh, to know she was alive and well. 

Now that he's found her, now that she's flesh and bone and with him again, well now he doesn't know just how to feel. He never considered life after all the wishing and hoping. 

The relief and affection of his childhood dreams are over balance by the emotion and confusion of his very adult self. 

Zapada was right. He can't leave things the way they are. Can't let Jane make assumptions and carry burdens that have nothing to do  
with who she was or who she will become. He's not used to voicing emotion of any kind. He's not used to having a weakness. 

On impulse, he decides to do something about it. He's in the car, driving through the frozen night without fully knowing how or why. Before he can reconsider he's pulled up behind the detail on her block. 

 

It's still fully dark when the knock comes. And when it does she knows it's him. The sound is all encompassing, demanding of respect and attention. Just like Weller himself. There's also the fact that her detail has a rhythm; three raps, same sound, same timing, and the screen door always slams behind them as they step away to give her space. There's no way it isn't him.

She finishes the last set of pushups before making the decision to let him in. It's not like she can pretend she isn't home. She's also pretty sure he wouldn't take too kindly to having to wait out the rest of her workout in the cold. 

She checks at the window just to be sure. She knows it's him, but just in case (She's more worried about his reaction if she didn't use every precaution). 

Weller's wedged between the storm door and the frame when she releases the lock. She can't tell if he's slept; he's alert and as somber as he ever is but she knows there are years of training behind that stoic look so she really can't be sure. 

All he gets when the door inches open is a sliver of female form in the glow of the street light and those emerald green eyes that tell more stories than the ink on her skin. He can smell the workout on her, can see the damp line of her tank in the edge of her shadow. Wonders if she's slept at all or if she's usually up at this hour, fighting off the dawn. She steps back to let him in, and he moves quickly, as if knowing she may change her mind at any moment. As it is, her eyes are roaming the room, calculating possibilities before they come. They face each other in the predawn darkness, eyes roaming and meeting and shifting in turn.  
The silence stretches and it's trimmed in a tension as delicate and fragile as lace. It hangs from the air in a pattern so intricate it makes the moment seem loud and fussy. She knows it has everything to do with the last time they shared this same space. The last time they stood close enough to breathe the same air. 

"Let’s go for a ride." he says by way of greeting, a nod in the direction of his truck parked at the curb the only indication of his meaning. She doesn't hesitate, agrees with a simple shake of her head. She gestures inside the apartment, then down at her sweaty work out wear. 

"Give me five minute." 

He nods, hands digging deep into his jacket pockets,

"I'll wait outside."

True to her word, she joins him on the sidewalk within five minutes. Her hair wet, her hands full of coffee. She passed him a cup and a small half smile before she slides into the SUV. She has absolutely no  
idea where they're going but she's pretty sure he's got something in mind.

 

It takes him a moment, a heartbeat to catch his breath. She's in the car, pulling the door closed and he's still focused on the scent of soap and her clean skin. He watches her as he rounds the hood, watches as she places her cup in its designated slot beside her elbow and then tuck a few damp strands of hair behind her ear. It's a gesture he might categorize as timid were it anyone else. When he rounds the truck, slides in beside her, he catches sight of the tips of the raven's wings peeking out of the collar of her black turtle neck. He feels a  
pull, low and fierce in his chest, feels the tips of his fingers tingle with a need to touch. There’s something about the fact that she’s covered herself up that makes him want to see what he already knows is there. He takes a deep breathe and throws the truck into drive, and focuses too fully on the road. 

The ride is quick and quiet. The roads nearly empty and the sky not yet bright. They've nearly crossed the New Jersey boarder, the sky sliding from ink, to indigo, then crimson when she finally speaks.

 

"What do you see when you look at me?" 

It's a simple question, asking in the most basic of ways but it's the fringe of panic that hangs after she's spoken that worries him the most. He doesn't answer her for a moment. Takes his eyes off the road for only a only a second before devoting his attention back to  
traffic. 

He sees her lick her lips out of the corner of his eye, listens to  
her shallow breathing and watches her twist her hands, gripping the frayed edges of the tears in the denim at her knees. She's hedging in on panic when he suddenly brakes hard and takes them to a not so subtle stop on the shoulder of I95. 

He clicks the engine off, sets the windows down until the air snaps  
with the frozen wind. He releases his seatbelt, turns his whole body towards her. She's got her eyes closed against his stare and a new hitch in her breath he knows has nothing to do with the cold. 

"Hey, Jane," His voice is gentle, the tips of his fingers soft as they graze the sharp angle of her shoulder. She doesn't jump but he can feel her shudder and quake with every ragged breathe.

 

"What happens when I'm not Taylor?" She looks directly at him this time, eyes sad and scared and swimming with insecurities. 

He shifts, not quite understanding where this is coming from, and yet, at the same time understanding that it would. He takes a firmer hold on her arm. He doesn't have to work the conviction into his voice, it comes so naturally and without a moments hesitation, "Jane, you are Taylor Shaw, there's no question there." 

She laughs softly and with no humor. How does she explain to him that the thought of being Taylor Shaw scares her as much as the thought of not being her? How does she tell him that she resents Taylor. That the resentment nearly suffocates her. How does she tell him, his affection for the child has made a mess of the woman. 

"That's just it, if it came down to the girl you lost and the woman you found, who would you choose?" She turns to mimic his position and face him head on. "The majority of who you are has everything to do with who I was, if I was, and I don't even know who that is." She drags her hands through her hair and the move breaks his hand lose of her arm. She's not shaking anymore but vibrating and his chest tightens with her panic, his heart races with her pain. 

"Jane, look at me." But she doesn't, instead covers her face with unsteady hands, threads them through her hair. "If there was only room enough for one of us, would you accept the fact if it couldn't be her?" she shakes her head, as if she finds the last sentence as crazy as it sounds. She lets that same soulless laugh bubble up again before she  
speaks again. 

"I know about the isotope test." It's said so soft and sad and with  
her eyes shut tight, but he hears it like the blare of a car horn. "And I can understand, even appreciate why you didn't tell me."  
She looks out the windshield. Gives them both a moment for the truth to sink in, closes her eyes before she continues. "How I found out doesn't matter, but who you see when you look at me does. What you see is what matters to me." She opens eyes, so delicate and strong, like a forest engulfed in flames, and his tongue feels thick, his throat achy and tight. And he knows he couldn't lie if he wanted to, knows there’s nothing more important then the next words he speaks. 

"The girl I lost, and the woman we found, they're the same person." He reaches for her hands and she surrenders them, closes her eyes when he holds them in his, her body nearly still, as if she's attempting to cancel out everything in order to focus on his words. 

It's moments like this he wishes he knew how to be gentler, kinder, softer. She needs to know she matters to someone, she needs to know that who she is, is what matters. He wants to tell her, to let her know  
the child she was, isn't what he sees when he looks at her. He's just so relieved that little girl was able to grow up and become this unbelievably strong woman. He just doesn't know how to tell her. 

Before he can think any more he takes her face in his hands. The move startles him just as much as it does her. She reaches up, takes hold of his wrists, muscles and bones taught and alert. He wants so desperately to be able to take those fears from her; the anxiety, the shock of human contact. He doesn't want her heart rate to jump when he sets his hands on her skin. 

At least not for the reasons it currently  
does. 

"To know that Taylor isn't lost anymore is enough for me." His voice  
is softer than she's ever heard it. "I'm sorry if I've made you feel like this. Sorrier still if I've made you believe I was only there for the little girl." 

Her grip on his wrists tightens and she shakes her head to clear it. 

"No Jane, listen, Taylor needed me. She looked up to me." He skips a beat but she's too wrapped up in what he's telling her, working too hard to keep the tears at bay to see everything he's feeling. 

"I look at you, see the trust you have in me, the faith, and I see the both of you looking back." 

She softens at his words. Sees the control and the pain and panic layered in his features. She sees the man behind the vest and the gun and the memories. 

"It hurts. Knowing you have this relationship, this history with this person that I can't seem to reach." She drops her forehead and he instinctively palms her cheek, pulls her close until his lips nearly skim her hairline. It only lasts a moment before she pulls back again. 

"I want nothing more than to look back at you and understand what you see. Who you see." She gives him a half smile, tries to make the hardest part a little easier. "I know she's what you want to see. It makes me wish I could be her even more." 

His heart skips a beat, fingers skim the tips of the bird's wings, the hair at the tip of her spine. Her shaking has subsided, at least enough to make him feel like she won't bolt at any second.

 

"Jane, look at me, please" he gives her a moment, knows her courage is a living, breathing thing inside her. Knows she couldn't let him down. 

When she lifts her head, that blazing forest sets his heart on fire. 

"Jane, what I see when I look at you, is the strongest, most selfless woman I've ever met."  
His grip on her hands tightens with the pressure in his chest. "And if you are that little girl, if she's a part of you in any way; that has everything to do with who you are and nothing to do with me or what we had as children." He lifts his fingers from the bird’s wings, takes her trembling hands in his and places them against the frantic beat of his heart, increases the pressure at the back of her neck, pulls until their noses bump, their foreheads rest together. "It has everything to do with who you've become. That's what I see when I look at you."

He feels the first tear skim his hand, and curses the fact that they’re in his car. He doesn’t think, just lifts her out of her seat and into his lap. She still has her hands pressed to his chest and he makes a point of mimicking the motion, feels the hummingbird that is her heart hammering against his palm. 

“You and me, Jane, okay?” She nods, and that ghost of a smile crosses her lips before she whispers back. “You and me.”


End file.
